


Secrets I have held in my heart

by sianii



Series: Devotion Verse [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking, but no sexy spanking, dom!Arthur, domestic punishment, no dicks touching in here sry, sub!eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:49:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1819087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sianii/pseuds/sianii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur comes home one night to a more than unwelcoming boyfriend, Arthur needs to figure out what it is Eames need, when he is seemingly unable to be honest about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets I have held in my heart

Arthur was tired and exhausted when he finally turned the key in the lock to the flat he lived in with Eames. Entering the familiar space was like balm to his maltreated mind, calming and comforting.

He entered, dropping his briefcase to the designated table next to the coat rack, where he discarded his suit jacket, before fully walking into the apartment. He didn’t call for Eames. It was quiet and if it was quiet Eames was either already in bed or still working in his studio. Arthur glanced at his wrist watch. It was after ten. He sighed and carded his hand through his hair, trying to loosen the gel that was slowly but steadily becoming uncomfortable. He really should work less, but he was never one who liked doing something “the next day” and if an assignment came in shortly before closing time, Arthur had a hard time to let it wait for another 16 hours.

Arthur checked the studio first, knowing it was the most likely place for Eames to be at this time of day, if he wasn’t out or in front of the TV. Arthur would know if Eames had planned to go out and would have been informed if something spontaneous had arisen. Neither was the case, so Arthur was surprised to find the studio empty and dark, save for one floor lamp left on next to a half-finished painting. The brushes where still dipped into paint, the color pallet, seemingly uncaring, dumped on the floor next to the stool.

“Huh,” Arthur let out a sound of confusion, his brows knitting together as he took in the scene. It wasn’t like Eames to be so inconsiderate when taking care of his supplies and art. He was chaotic in every sense of the word but his working materials he treated with a care otherwise only preserved for Arthur.

After turning off the lamp, Arthur closed the door quietly and headed to the bedroom only to find it empty as well. Something was off. Very off.

Walking back into the living room area, Arthur was just about to give Eames a call, when he noticed a bundle of blankets on the couch in the form of a bulky adult man.

“Hey,” Arthur said quietly, as he stepped around the couch to get a look at Eames’s face, buried in the cushions. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, well here I am.” Eames turned lazily, eyes still half closed and for the best part ignoring Arthur’s mere existence.

Arthur nodded, assenting to the obvious. The feeling that something was wrong crept up on Arthur again. It wasn’t that Eames welcomed him home every night like a waiting puppy, but this blatant apathy was unusual to say the least.

It was then that Arthur noticed the empty tumbler on the couch table, the remains of scotch glistening at the bottom of the glass. Arthur's lips thinned as he quickly took his phone from his pocket and checked for messages from Eames. Nothing.

"Eames, have you been drinking?" Arthur asked in a level voice. Eames looked at him, defiance and a hint of guilt in his eyes. Now Arthur also noticed the slight glassy touch to his gaze, something Arthur would have attributed to sleepiness weren't the glass hinting at intoxication.

"What if I had, darling?" Eames tongue was rolling clumsily around the vowels and Arthur's lips thinned even further.

"You did not text me," Arthur stated simply, letting the implication hang in the air. As expected Eames sat up a little, straightening his spine.

"I don't need your permission to have a well-earned and needed drink in the evening," Eames spat out. All of the lax sleepiness was gone from his body. He looked weirdly out of place, sitting rigidly on their couch in just a pair of flannel PJ bottoms, still half way under a red blanket. He was thrumming with tension now. Arthur was startled even though he tried not to let it show.

Finally, Arthur gave a curt nod after considering Eames's words. "You do not need permission, but we did agree on you being obligated to inform me if you feel the desire to drink. You did not."

Arthur's gaze stayed on Eames, gauging his reaction. The rule had been established early on when Arthur had heard of Eames past as an adolescent alcoholic and his struggle to keep a level head when intoxicated. Eames had craved someone to keep him in check as he was recovering and everything seemed to be easier when Arthur was involved, or so Eames had once told him.

It was simple. Arthur didn't want to control Eames's life and Eames didn't want someone controlling his life. So Eames was not obligated to ask, just inform and Arthur wasn't given power to grant but just to object. It might seem like a redundant differentiation to an outsider but it made sense to them. Arthur wouldn't have objected tonight. He didn't most nights. Thing was Eames hadn't given him the opportunity to.

Eames only stared at him. Contumacious. That was the word Arthur had been searching for in his head. The question was why. Eames was an easy-going person and since they had first met he had been putty in Arthur’s notably capable hands. He could be cocky and provoking, daring Arthur to break him down and into pieces, only to put him back together. Altered. Stronger. Still the same brilliant essence.

This was different.

“What is wrong, Eames?” Arthur asked, voice still calm but demanding. Eames actually rolled his eyes at him. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Heavily Eames got up, carelessly shedding the blanket and then grabbed the bottle of Scotch from the floor and poured himself another glass, before walking around Arthur, not sparing him another glance. He stopped at the kitchen counter, leaning his back against it, one arm wrapped around his torso, the other holding the glass he steadily sipped from.

Slowly, Arthur turned around, his eyes narrowing. “Are you being serious right now?” He noticed that his voice was taking on an edge, but he couldn’t keep it out. He was puzzled. Nothing made sense.

“As I do not hear you objecting…”

“Maybe I should,” Arthur exclaimed, taking one step in Eames direction. Eames just shrugged, Arthur’s guidance and dominance, not for the first time tonight, dismissed.

"Why are you drinking?" Arthur tried then, watching as Eames emptied the glass with a big gulp.

“As I said: well-deserved drink.” Along with Arthur’s irritation he could feel his impatience growing.

“Stop bullshitting me,” the annoyance he had tried to keep out of his voice was clearly audible now, “I’ve been in your studio. It’s not like you to leave your stuff lying around like that. And then I find you moping on the couch, getting wasted, picking a fight with me.”

“I’m not picking a fight. It’s just you yelling at me. If something crawled up your arse and died at your office, then be so kind and fucking leave it there, yeah? Don’t wreak your anger on me.”

“Don’t make this about me.”

“Well, maybe it just _is_ about you. Maybe it’s about you yelling at me for no reason, because you’re annoyed with yourself and your life, while I just want a moment of peace and quiet. Jesus!” Eames spat at him and hitting right where it hurt. Arthur was tired and irritated and instead of easing that soreness the long day had left in him, Eames just added to his tenseness and exasperation.

“Well excuse me for working my ass off ten hours a day, while you stay at home all comfy, lazing around and doing some artsy hobby that you call an occupation.”

His voice was calm and biting. He hadn’t meant it. Well maybe he had. Irritation loosened his tongue, short-circuited his brain-to-mouth filter. A bad quality he had worked years on to keep in check as a professional point man and criminal, but Eames had always broken down his walls.

The tumbler of Scotch flew through the air, barely missing his face and breaking into pieces as it hit the wall with a shattering crash. Arthur froze. He knew Eames would never hurt him but this was unlike any fight they had ever had, both private and professional. Eames was aggressive, aggravated, daring Arthur to react.

"Do you want me to punish you?" Arthur sounded incredulous. It had been meant as a warning but as Arthur saw how Eames jaw set without his eyes lowering, something in Arthur's head just moved into place.

Eames _did_ want to be punished but he couldn't ask. He was breaking rules, lashing out, needing Arthur to do _something_. It wasn’t defiance or anger. Eames had just had a bad day and he needed an outlet. He needed to let go of all the bad emotions clogging up his mind and Arthur had shown him a way to let go. Frustration. That was the core to it all.

"Then again this is not about what you want anymore, Eames. It's about what you need. It's about what you deserve."

Eames eyes did lower at that and Arthur could see his shoulders slumping a little in subtle gratitude. It was all the confirmation he needed.

With two long strides he was standing directly in front of Eames. They were both about the same height but when Arthur took Eames’s chin between his pointer finger and thumb to turn it up and look him in the eye, Eames might as well have been two heads shorter.

“You are going to clean up the mess you made. The glass, the blanket, the paint in your studio. When everything is perfectly in order, you are going to kneel. Legs parted, hands flat on the couch table. You don’t move, you don’t speak. Keep your head down and think about what you did wrong tonight.”

Eames eyes were wide, his gaze flickering all over Arthur’s face, only to come back to stare him dead in the eye.

Slowly, Eames touched his fingers to Arthur’s wrist, a silent question to have permission to speak and Arthur granted it with a short nod.

“How…” Eames’s voice broke and he cleared his throat, “How long?” he tried again. Arthur smiled, a little wicked half smile that had Eames’s eyes widening even further.

“As long as I deem appropriate. When you’re done with contemplating the events of tonight, I will come for you and we will work on your attempt at redemption.” At that Arthur’s other hand reached around Eames back and gave him a casual slap on his ass. It wasn’t hard or painful but it was a promise of what was still to come.

Eames let out a rattling breath and closed his eyes.

“Everything understood?” Arthur asked and in an afterthought added, “Speak.”

“Yes,” Eames whispered. Arthur’s grip on his chin tightened and Eames eyes snapped open again.

“Yes, Sir?” It was half a question. Eames had never used that term for Arthur outside the bedroom… well not so much “bedroom” as in “outside of a sexual situation” but in the light of current events it felt right and it flooded Arthur with a wave of affection and power.

“Good boy,” he murmured and dropped his hand, turning to the bedroom and walking away without another glance back.

Entering their bedroom, he left the door slightly ajar and after a moment he could hear Eames starting to move around the apartment, putting in order what he had left in chaos.

It didn’t take long until the noise subsided. Arthur had been listening intently, standing nearly still close by the door. The silence in the next room was a sign of Eames settling in to kneel and wait.

Arthur took a steadying breath, his fingers carding through his gelled back hair, loosening it up even more. He regretted that motion as soon as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked shaken, tired and twitchy. All these were things he was not supposed to be.

Another steadying breath and Arthur straightened his tie, his hands moving over his waistcoat to hide the stress and creases of a day’s work. Better already.  
  
Combing his hair back, Arthur looked himself in the eye, suppressing the urge to bite his lip in nervousness. It took some great effort but he managed. After splashing his face with some cold water in the adjacent bathroom he even looked remotely human again, he thought. Sharp, sure, in control.

Being in control. That was what Eames needed from Arthur now. To let go and give up the control he had over himself. Control that didn’t soothe his mind or body right now. Give up the control to someone else, to Arthur, hoping that Arthur would do better. Make him better.

Fleetingly, Arthur eyed his closet. He was very well acquainted with his own collection of leather belts but he discarded the idea very quickly. In a weird way, using a tool didn’t strike Arthur as personal, as _intimate_ as it should be.

Another glance, another breath, trying to let go of any agitation and anger, being calm. Control. Arthur wished he would have been able to do some research on domestic punishment. Not that he was foreign to the concept of it or the delivery of punishment. He had just never been in a relationship stable enough to come to a point where it had been a possibility outside of sexual role-play.

Arthur liked to know what to expect going into a situation. He always felt the need to be prepared, to be able to anticipate every possible move and outcome. Now, he was very much not prepared and out of his comfort zone, knowing that whatever happened would mean a great deal for who they were as a couple.

Looking at his wrist watch informed him that Eames must have been sitting still for over twenty minutes already. He reached out for the door handle and grabbed it tightly for a moment. Closing his eyes for a second, he straightened his posture. What Arthur knew about himself beside his frantic need for information, was that he had a good instinct and quick reactions. He could handle this, because Eames needed him to and that was all that mattered.

With more force than necessary, Arthur pulled the door open, walking towards the middle of the room. Eames was positioned as he had been told but before Arthur so much as showed that he had acknowledged that, he moved to inspect whether Eames had cleaned up as perfectly as he had been ordered to.  
  
The studio was spotless and with an appreciative nod Arthur turned off the lights. The glass had also been swept up and disposed of in the trash can. There was a faint hint of dampness on the wall, where the glass had hit and left a small stain. It was evident that Eames had tried as best as he could to clean it up though and the effort and eye for detail were what Arthur valued.

Facing Eames’s backside again, Arthur could see the neatly folded blanket lying on the couch. Next to it Eames was kneeling, legs spread, hands flat on the low coffee table, his head bowed. He hadn’t moved an inch or as much as twitched to turn around as far as Arthur could tell. A pleased little sound escaped his throat as he stepped closer.

Arthur came to stand on Eames left side, pausing for a moment to marvel at his beautiful partner. He hadn’t told Eames to put on a shirt and he was quite glad he hadn’t. Arthur let his hand hover over Eames form for a moment, before settling on his back. He could feel the light shudder cursing through his sub’s body but otherwise Eames remained still.

Slowly Arthur let his hand drift upwards, his fingers tracing the tattoo on Eames’s left shoulder blade, just feather light touches, until his hand reached Eames’s neck, then, with deliberate slowness, Arthur got down on his knees, keeping his hand at Eames’s neck. When he was finally kneeling beside his sub, Arthur’s grip turned harsher, holding Eames in place rather than just touching.

"You did well", Arthur whispered close to his sub’s ear, "but we're not done yet." His grip on Eames’s neck tightened and carefully but firmly, he began pushing Eames’s head further down. “Just like that,” Arthur whispered as Eames’s simply followed his motion, bowing under his hands until Eames’s chest was pressed against his hands, his forehead resting against the cold stone of the coffee table.

Because of Eames’s altered position his ass was up in the air now, while his back curved downwards.

Arthur took another moment to marvel at the beauty of Eames's defined back before he gave his neck a reassuring squeeze. Letting go of Eames’s neck, Arthur’s hand stroked down Eames’s spine until it reached the waistband of his PJs.

“Ass a little higher,” Arthur instructed and Eames did so without hesitation.

Arthur traced the waistband with just the tip of his finger, but before he got Eames’s naked, he wanted to make clear what was about to happen and have Eames know why.

“I am going to spank you, Eames” Arthur said calmly, not bothering to whisper anymore. Instead his voice filled the silent room, despite not being raised. “I will not make you count, I will not give you a number. Instead I want you to tell me, why you think you are being punished. I want you to tell me what it is that you mulled over while you were waiting. You don’t move. You don’t speak unless I address you with a question, unless you need to stop. Understood? Then nod.”

It was barely there but Arthur could see Eames’s head moving over the coffee table in a slight up and down motion. Satisfied, Arthur pulled down Eames pants just far enough to expose his ass.

For a second Arthur let his hand just rest on one of Eames’s butt cheeks, not applying any pressure but assessing how wide his long fingers splayed. It also gave Eames another moment to brace himself for the first hit.

Without giving any warning Arthur delivered three harsh slaps to where his hand had just rested on Eames’s ass cheek. He paused then, letting his hand feel how the skin began to warm already. Eames hadn’t moved an inch; the only indication of discomfort had been a shuddering breath he had released.

Arthur squeezed lightly before striking out and delivering another succession of slaps across Eames’s ass. This time Eames did move, just a slight shift, his body seemingly unsure if to move away or into Arthur’s touch. Arthur squeezed both of Eames’s cheeks again, harder this time, his short nails digging into the round flesh.

Eames’s skin was beginning to redden and Arthur knew it must hurt already. He knew it did. Not from experience but because he was a professional and this wasn’t play. He hit to bruise. Eames’s nerves would be in sensory overload already, sending sparks of pain from the point of contact into his brain. Pins and needles, stinging every time Arthur hit, only getting worse when Arthur paused.

Arthur hit again and Eames let out a shuddering breath this time, weight visibly shifting this time and immediately Arthur’s other hand found Eames’s neck again.

“Don’t,” was all he said and promptly Eames’s body froze back in position. Arthur petted his butt in praise, knowing that even that would be more of endurance than gratification at this point. Estimating how tense Eames was and how red the skin had gotten Arthur decided it was time for answers.

The harsh slaps stopped and instead he began to kneed and caress the reddened cheeks.

“Why are you being punished, Eames? Speak.”

There was a slight pause but then Eames’s spoke. “I was disobedient. I lashed out at you. I could have hurt you.” Eames’s voice was raw as he spoke, teary nearly and again Arthur was astonished as to the effect he had on this extraordinary man. The answer hadn’t been 100% satisfying though.

“That is true. But there is more. Think,” and slap. This time across the crack, a part Arthur had not yet paid enough attention to. Soon enough, the skin was so red, Arthur might have been persuaded to believe it was permanently painted that way. As he noticed Eames’s body vibrating with every hit, he paused again.

“Do you have something to add?”

“I lied,” Eames croaked out and Arthur didn’t think he had ever heard his voice laced with so much remorse. “You asked what was wrong and I lied. I got vicious and I lied and I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry, Sir. I shouldn’t have. I should have been honest and I wasn’t and I’m sorry. I just…”

But Arthur had heard enough. It was times like now that Eames was allowed to let it all out, he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop babbling, couldn’t stop being honest, couldn’t stop to crave redemption.

The hand on Eames’s neck moved up into his hair, stroking lovingly, a stark contrast to where Arthur was still squeezing Eames’s batted ass. Eames was still talking even though he lightly pressed up into Arthur’s caress.

“I just got frustrated and I let it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. Not on you. Never you. I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Shhhhh,” Arthur made a soothing sound, still caressing Eames’s skull. “It’s okay now. You did well. Now count for me, Eames. Ten more strokes and everything is forgiven, alright?”

Eames didn’t say anything else, just let out another deep breath, as if with the prospect of forgiveness all the tension and guilt were leaving his body. And they actually did.

Arthur let his hand strike down and Eames’s counted and with every blow, the tension that had had Eames’s whole body ridged left his body. When Eames let out a breathy ten, he was basically molded into the table, his posture still perfect but with an air of content relaxation.

“Good boy,” Arthur said as soon as Eames was done counting. Nevertheless, he let his hand rest on Eames’s ass, massaging the skin for a moment but when Eames’s let out a disgruntled sound, Arthur settled on taking care of it later and simply pulled Eames's PJs up.

Giving a last affectionate caress to Eames's skull, Arthur got up swiftly, only to settle back on the couch. His eyes stayed on Eames and especially Eames’s face, which was still buried against the table.

“It’s over. You’re forgiven.” The words seemed to be the charm that did it, breaking a sort of spell that seemed to have enveloped the sub. Slowly he started moving out of his position, rolling his shoulders to loosen the stiff muscles in his back. Arthur also noticed how Eames was still kneeling, his legs parted so his ass wouldn’t rest on the back of his feet.

Finally Eames looked up, managing a small cheeky smile, despite the light red to his eyes and the color in his cheeks.

“Come ‘ere”, Arthur said, stretching out a hand and Eames shuffled forward on his knees until he came to a stop, kneeling between Arthur’s parted legs. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier and I’m sorry I said it,” Arthur admitted. “You tried to get a rise out of me and I shouldn’t have stooped so low.” Eames had lowered his head, in shame, Arthur presumed and he made a tsk noise.

“None of that. It’s forgiven. Still, we need to talk about it. You lied to me and you cannot do that. If you need something from me: ask. If you have a problem: tell me. Honesty, Eames. Without honesty there can be no trust and we need trust for us to work.” Eames just nodded, more than after the beating looking like someone had just hit him.

“I know that I am busy a lot and that I get tired often but you are my number one priority and you can always come to me. I promise you that, alright? No more lashing out when all you would have to do is talk.”

Eames nodded again. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, shuffling a little. Arthur was patient though, waiting for Eames to gather the thoughts he felt the need to share. Finally, Eames started to speak, his voice low and thoughtful.

“Back in the day when I got frustrated, most of the time I just left. I burned bridges and fucked over people,” Eames looked up at him hesitantly and Arthur bit his tongue even though he wanted to remark that Eames was way more reliable than he gave himself credit for. “I just didn’t care. I didn’t see why I should stick around when things got difficult. The world was my oyster and I could go where ever I wanted.”

At that Arthur had to interrupt him. “What are you saying, Eames. Do you want to go?” The hurt in his voice was more evident than Arthur would have liked but they had just talked about honesty after all. Eames looked shocked at the mere suggestion. For a moment he looked thoughtful but then he raised his hands, carefully bracketing Arthur’s face with his broad hands.

“No, darling, not at all. I am saying…,” he was grasping for words, “What I am trying to make you understand is… I’m not used to having a _life_. I am not used to one city. Hell, I’m not used to not having jet leg and what I’m certainly not used to is… routine.” Eames said the word like it was a foreign concept to him. It evidently was. Arthur was still unsure of where Eames was going but the man just continued.

“It’s been three months now, Arthur. The longest… vacation, you could say, I’ve had in nearly two decades and it’s been a dream, alright? Sometimes I just have to check my totem because I know that in my deepest, darkest, most hopeful and most desperate thoughts I’ve wanted this with you for years… but reality isn’t always perfect and today I did get frustrated. Impatient with myself to a point where I felt fed up with everything I love. I didn’t know what to do, because my usual cure for this kinda feeling is something I am not willing to uptake anymore. I don’t want to leave, Arthur.”

Arthur’s throat clogged, like he couldn’t breathe as if his heart had just jumped out of his chest, just to get stuck there. “Eames,” was all he was able to whisper, his hand wandering from where it had rested on his thigh to card through the short hair at the back of Eames’s neck.

“I just didn’t know what to do with myself today and I’m so sorry. I could have hurt you.”

“You never would,” Arthur said with calm conviction. “And it’s okay. It’s over now. You paid your dues.” Eames nodded erratically, shifting slightly on his knees. His ass must still hurt and burn and it gave Arthur a slight satisfaction to know.

That left them with a problem though. This had been a fall out. A small crisis you might say. Arthur was a professional even if retired point man. Solving crises was his calling.

Eames was still looking at him. He had said his piece and was now waiting for Arthur to respond. For a moment Arthur wanted to ask what Eames thought he should do, but that would have been only half satisfactory for both of them. Eames had to be honest, Arthur had to be observant. He was the Dom. He called the shots and that’s how they both wanted it.

Suddenly, Eames words were back in his mind “ _Everything seems easier when you’re involved_ ,” and wasn’t that just what a relationship and theirs especially had always been about? Sharing the load? Delegating the work and having the one best suited for it bear the responsibility?

“When you get frustrated like this again,” Arthur finally said slowly, his eyes transfixed on any reaction of Eames, “I forbid you from drowning it in alcohol. We both know you’re better than that. Furthermore, I want you to put distance between what is frustrating you and yourself. I do not mean skip town or run away; I mean that you distract yourself. If it is painting, stop. Put away your things neatly, turn of the light, leave the studio, do something else. Don’t let the frustration eat you up. If it gets too bad and you continue to feel restless, you call me.”

Eames seemed to relax under his words, though his posture hadn’t slumped and his hands were still holding Arthur’s face. Nevertheless the glint of worry hadn’t left his eyes.

“What if I can’t reach you?” Arthur nodded. He liked when Eames pointed out possible problems, even if he had never admitted to it during their professional days. It showed that Eames was listening.

“If you only catch my assistant, tell her it’s urgent. Tell her it’s about the trip to Mombasa.”

At that Eames peaked up. “Why Mombasa?” Arthur smiled. “Because we both know it’s the most likely place for you to head first, if you felt the need to run. It’s hot, it has casinos and I wasn’t able to go there for a long time.”

Eames grinned in return, surprisingly content about being so see-through. Arthur cherished that Eames delighted at something that would have any other conman running for the hills. It would have Eames running, if it were anyone but Arthur.

Arthur’s face turned serious again. “That’s an order, which also means that I am well within my rights to punish you without further ado when I see it disobeyed, understood?” He said understood and meant agreed. Eames knew and happily nodded anyway, adding “Yes, sir” to his physical compliance.

Finally everything felt right and at ease. For the first time since he had left for the office in the morning, Arthur felt the tension draining from his body. His sweet, cheeky, infuriating sub was kneeling between his legs, his hair was soft between his fingers, and his broad hands were touching him with admiring delicacy.

“Come ‘ere,” Arthur mumbled, pulling Eames in for a long, soft close mouthed kiss. Just a warm press of lips that reassured them both of how okay they were. They had reached a new level of understanding today and Arthur felt very much like going to bed and sleeping all the excitement off, maybe hinting at Eames that his mouth was a way better thing to wake up to than his alarm. Eames would most likely grin promisingly, only to be deeply asleep when Arthur’s alarm did blare loudly. But that was okay, too. What really mattered was Eames throwing a cushion at the offending machine only to pull Arthur back into bed and envelop him like an octopus, his head pillowed on Arthur’s shoulder, making him late for work.

It was worth it. It always was.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first time ever punishment and the internet was less hopefull than i had hoped. i welcome every kind of sincere and helpfull pointers ;D


End file.
